


Don’t Go Softly

by Leszre



Series: /trænˈsendəns/ [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU-Soulmate, Con-Crits Welcome!, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 19:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: updatedCMBYN Prequel(??) in AU–Soulmate spin.•Not-beta-ed,•Con-crits welcome! (I plea thee be ever so kind and gentle.).My Request: though I don’t foresee this from ever happening,please ask meif you, in any way, feel that this drabble is worthy of being shared in any platform other than AO3.





	Don’t Go Softly

**Author's Note:**

> Whew––, oddly, this one was a hard one; things didn’t feel right, words didn’t flow easily, it just felt wonky.   
> Nothing fancy and... another sloth-level slow burn. I sawee–––  
> .  
> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!  
> .  
> All and all, I hope I didn’t do any disservice for this AU trope for anyone. *awkward smile & crossing my fingers and toes* aaand I hope you like it!

####  **Don’t Go Softly**

 

The first time he felt his soulmate was during the semi-final debate tournament. He was supposed to take the next round of the argument. Feeling the connection might not be the most accurate description. Because he broke out into uncontrollable laugh: a serious, laugh-out-loud ‘ha ha ha,’ laugh. It was involuntary; it was genuine; it was liberating.

Technically, to think about it, it wasn’t really a surprise.

For the past few days, Oliver had this incredible itch right on his left arm, inside of his upper arm to be exact, in between the part where the triceps and the biceps meet. At first, he thought of it as a skin irritation. Because, for the past seven years, Oliver was dead-solid on the belief that he came into this world _without_ a soulmate.

Philosophers have long been theorized that as a species with high-brain function has a more than likely and tangible reason on spending lots of energy, time, and resources in coupling and procreation. The fact that a sentient being leading a life based on a simple desire to breed and seek carnal pleasure just seemed illogical and unreasonable to philosophers. Because so-called passing on the gene to the next era, in its strictest sense, only a fraction of parent genes'd survive as the each generation progresses. (first generation: half-half; second gen.: quarter-quarter; third gen.: one sixteenth, and so on.) Meaning, majority of what constructs us now as biological human beings will dwindle faster than any of us could ever imagine. Because of the similar ludicrous arbitrary view, for instant, the whole indigenous population across numerous countries have suffered and continue to torment: a.k.a. blood content for proving their heritage and identity.

Historically, the earliest mention of soul bonding and soulmate was approximately around the Bronze Age. Very recently discovered Ancient Sumerian texts eluded the similar narrative, but in a mythological manner.

Evolution biologists have hypothesized – by tracing RNA structures and cross-species comparisons with the help of thousands and thousands years old archaeological remains– that two individuals who are designated as soul mates possess linked codex in their gene pool.

But no one knows exactly when this essential trait of human bond began or how it came to existence. It simply has been the way things are for us humans: no matter the age, no matter the race, no matter the country, no matter the gender, no matter the socio-economical class, no matter the political view. And something to look forward to for little kids to turn eleven: one of monumental steps of growing up.

There are, however, a rare but significant number of people who are born without the said codex. These population, one in one hundred thousand, often chose the priest- or nun-hood of various religion. As the centuries progressed, even those who are born with the soulmate gene are allowed to devout themselves into the belief of their choice. Because some are bonded with a partner who are deemed as 'possessed by demons' or 'cursed' (lack of understanding about mental illness, the effect of poisonous substances such as lead in cosmetics Bronze Age, arsenic in wall paper during Victorian Age, radioactive materials as vitamin and chocolate bars in 1930s, etc.), and criminals (from real psychopaths and serial killers to the victims of political and religious persecution). And later, as the science developed, statistics have shown that a small number of codex-less persons who were considered unfortunate souls indeed became well-known explorers, philosophers, behavioral scientists, artists; who thrived on being alone, untethered, free to see & experience the world, and leave their legacy through their long life’s work.

So, when Oliver didn’t get his soulmate mark once he turned eleven, he resigned himself to become the best at what he has been drawn to, all his pre-teen life: philosophy and linguistics. He admitted to himself, and later to his soulmate, that it was a difficult reality to swallow since everyone around him had and/or has a soulmate.

*

 

Standing in the middle of the auditorium stage, Oliver did his best to consciously subdue his intense joy. As the culture already has a fair level of acceptance on sudden soul-connection, Oliver was able to request a recess. Then, he finished his counter argument with clarity and crisp precision. He gathered that 80 percent of this phenomenon belonged to his soulmate; other 20 was from Oliver being glad of ‘the seven-years-too-late’ existence that proves he wasn’t born soulmate-less. Yes, Oliver was aware that among those 1 in 100,000 cases, some feel their bond late in their life. One possible reason could be from the simple fact that the counterpart (or the other half) is either passed on (naturally, by accident, or heavens forbid killed) or not born yet.

To Oliver's dismay, his soul-half seeped in slowly. Vey. Slowly. Almost shy, bordering coy, and somewhat clandestine like they want to stay behind a thin veil. Each person experiences their soulmate differently, obviously. Some share their connection through five senses right from the moment the connection is made while others actually have a conversation telepathically. Some may share the similar scars (sometimes, matching ones) though they didn’t actually suffer the injury themselves, no matter how small or insignificant the wound may be. One of Oliver's buddies since kindergarten saw through her soul-half’s eyes as if she was seeing a movie or through VR glasses/head gear in full color the day she turned eleven. If the concept of soulmate wasn’t widely accepted, her soulmate would have been treated as a mental patient.

Since that afternoon during the tournament, Oliver could always feel their presence and has been rationally aware that they are really there. Yet it was rather frustrating feat. Don’t get him wrong, Oliver was happy that he has a soulmate. Better late than never, right? But Oliver has been feeling he could almost reach out but he could never really get to touch or see. His mate really was in no hurry. Are they doing it deliberately? Oliver wouldn’t know.

The next thing Oliver realized was that his soul mark closely resembling the pattern. The area just stayed slightly red for few more years. For most people, an individually unique soul-bonding mark appears in their own unique manner. Actual experiences vary from person to person, as the placement and exactly in what style and form one would appear on a given body deeply depended on the bond pair. The mark can be a figure, symbol, writing, code, etc. For Oliver, his mark stayed as vague as it wanted to.

*

 

As months went by, he gradually found himself being drawn to classical music, especially that of piano. The before soul-connection Oliver was more into rock: electric guitars, drums, bass. The genre that now belongs to classic rock. Oliver was glad that there were several record stores near his college campus.

An extrovert who always felt energized being in the crowd, his soul mate’s timidity bleeding into him was new and curious sensation for him. At some point, Oliver wondered whether he really was an extrovert. His new found joy of just sitting on the grass, soaking up the sun, reading and listening to long list of piano classics were quite satisfying.

On his 21st birthday, he felt some raise in his soul mark area. He was in the shower, after an evening out with his college friends. Oliver came home early because they were more collegiate rather than relaxed friendship. Warm shower stream felt unusually good and comforting; Oliver couldn’t stop smiling. He ran his fingerpads to-and-fro, slowly and gently, on the patch of soft flesh in his inner arm and just stood there. It was not enough to make out exactly what it says. But Oliver was overjoyed. Because it meant the bond was getting stronger.

Oliver excelled in his academic career: he graduated with BA and MA in philosophy, minor in linguistics. In his close circle, his true minor was in mixology as he was quite decent at creating cocktails. Whenever Oliver received a compliment, he joked that this is his plan B.

"Bartender with graduate degree?" one of his friends drawled, "that would be too much, Oliver. Talk about unfair. You got the looks, the voice, the skill, and the brain?"

On the side, he took four semesters of Italian. At first, he just shrugged it off as a part of his linguistical curiosity. Oliver couldn’t explain why he was drawn to Italian, more than any other Old World language. For one, he has never really been a fan ever since his sixth grade. It was during one of world history classes that Oliver learned about Mussolini, along with Kaiser, playing an essential role for Hitler on his heinous quest for ethnic cleansing. Grew up in New England and being an odd Jew out almost his entire life, Oliver reasoned that it hit him harder than any other atrocious acts committed by governing classes throughout the history.

But now?

He developed this sudden fascination over Italian, as a language. Oliver couldn't explain why. Because, as far as picking his favorite out of many based on how each language sounds, his first and foremost choice would be Greek. Then Latin. No one speaks Latin anymore but Western civilization is basically rooted upon it and majority of modern western language still has numerous traces of it. Anyhow, Oliver began to read classic Italian poems. Next was fables and myths. Of course, he loved cooking pasta from scratch. New York City, in its essence, has a deep rooted Italian food culture passed on from generation to generation. He started preferring wood fire oven pizza, the one closer to how Italian pizza has been made for hundreds of years, quite different from renowned new york style slices. Besides, the flat bake bread comes from Greeko-Roman era.

He was soon accepted to PhD program at Columbia and has been enjoying his TA position for the past two years was when he received delightful news. One of his college frat buddies, Pavel, who is currently doing his doctorate at University of Chicago, recommended Oliver to apply for this ‘you don’t really need to do anything’ six-week internship abroad in Italy. “It was fucking awesome,” was Pavel’s exact words. He went on and said that it was the greatest vacation he could have ever imagined. Then Pavel added that he already mentioned Oliver’s name to the said renowned professor along with the shpill about Oliver’s achievements and character as an aspiring academic. You already speak the language. Not fluently. Aw---, don’t be so modest. Pavel, uncharacteristically, pressed the said must-have-it-or-you'll- regret-it opportunity rather hard on Oliver as if he was doing his oral thesis defense, over the phone.

A couple of days after he finally gave in to Pavel's persuasion, decided to acquiesce and sent in the application package was when he first heard their voice. He was grading final essay papers for the past two hours, sitting in his desk at the corner of his advising professor. It was in Oliver’s voice. Or how he perceived his voice sounded like to other people.

/“oh, sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me,”/ said the voice.

“Hi,” Oliver answered.

/“hi,”/

“urm…, how are you? can you hear me okay?” asked Oliver.

/“I’m doing well, it’s little distant. Like I'm under water. But I hear you. how are you?”/

“good, good, I hear you in my voice,”

/“The same,”/ offered the voice.

Oliver found himself chuckling lightly. Another step forward.

Although the conversation was far and few in between and it never really went anywhere, Oliver had a piece of mind that things'd only get better. But he decided to find the cause of their connection being ‘not-as-strong.' Oliver consulted the soulmate healthcare practitioners and the department of soul connection to see what he could do: to see if he needs to learn some technique by an expert. At the same time, he didn’t want to push his soul-half based on how their soul-link progressed for past five years. Maybe they are romantic, Oliver shrugged at the trepidation. You know those who believe in fate and meant-to-be thing that two person sharing a bond would find each other without much information about one another? Yet Oliver couldn’t shake off the anxiety brewing inside him: the want and the need to know about his soulmate. What their name is, how old they are, where they live, what color their eyes are, how their voice sounds like, and all sorts of things.

*

 

Time carried on. The Hanuka came and went. Sooner then before, the piled snow began to melt.

Oliver could hear several piano pieces played over and over in a given day, like a distant echo, in his head and knew instinctively that it was being played by his soulmate. _They must be practicing,_ Oliver thought. He started to hear more and clearly without giving much effort or concentration. One day, he even caught himself humming the notes. He was on his way to the library. The frequency gradually started to increase, but not as much as Oliver hoped.

“That was really nice,” Oliver said quietly into the night air as if his soul-half was here with him in the room.

/“Thank you, I hope I’m not annoying you,”/ said the voice in his head.

“I’m learning, you know. About classical music,” offered Oliver fondly with a smile.

/“Do you have any favorite?”/

“I’m not sure I know enough to have a favorite yet,” answered Oliver, his chest rumbling low with laughter.

Without more words, Oliver heard the soft thrum of piano melody until he soundlessly fell asleep.

*

 

He was sitting at the diner after a meeting across town.

/“what is this called?”/ asked the voice.

“Hi,” replied Oliver, sipping his coffee.

/“what are you listening to?”/

Oliver didn’t have his headset on.

“Oh, it’s from the diner. I think it’s the radio.”

/“will you tell me the name of that song?”/

“Urmm---, let me see what I can do,” offered Oliver, turning his head to get one of the servers’ attention.

/“any luck?”/

“Hang on,” Oliver smiled, elongating his neck a little.

In the end, Oliver got up out of the diner booth and was soon standing in front of the host’s podium. The place was busy and he couldn’t get the help, immediately.

“Does this song bother you?”

/“no, it's not that, I think it’s not release here yet.”/

“Where are you?”

/“In Europe.”/

“You know there are 44 countries in Europe.”

That was when Oliver heard their laugh for the first time. Still in his voice, though.

/“I live in Italy. Did you get the name of the song yet?”/

“Hold your horses,” said Oliver warmly.

Oliver managed to get the name of the radio station and asked the host if he could use the phone; so he could to get the name of the song, by calling the radio station's song request line. He gave a rather generous tip before he left the diner with a slice of house lemon meringue pie. That evening, Oliver and his soul-half conversed again. They were quite chattier than usual. Oliver wasn’t sure why he left out the fact that he’d be visiting Italy in few weeks and would be staying there for six weeks. If they live in Italy, _was Oliver understanding them in American English automatically? Or does his soulmate speak English?_ Oliver had so many questions but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

/“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”/

“No, I wish I had.”

/“The same. uhh––, are you eating something tart-sweet?”/

Oliver stopped in middle of bringing another forkful of lemon pie to his opened mouth. He sat frozen in that paused motion, blinking.

/“Did I lose you? _Fuck_! Hey, are you still there?”/

“Yeah, yeah, I was eating lemon meringue.”

/“That’s what it was. Pie or cookie?”/

“Pie. Wow, did you actually taste it?”

/"I got this faint whiff and I am nowhere near anything resembles lemon meringue."/

*

 

After that evening, the soul-link became noticeably more prominent. Oliver decided to refrain himself from speculating and elected to just enjoy. _Things will fall into place_ , he reminded himself. Oliver could actually feel his soul-half closely. He rationalized that it has something to do with summer being around the corner. His soulmate complained about hot humid summer and said that they couldn't wait till the school was out.

A couple more weeks have gone by and two fell into a rhythm of being each other's head quite comfortably. Oliver was getting the sense that his soul-half was actually wanting to get to know him.

“Uhh–––, speaking of,” Oliver interjected, as he was exiting the lecture hall, “I’ll be in Italy in few days and I was hoping if we could meet.”

/“I’d like that. When will you be coming?”/

“I’ll be visiting Sicily for a couple of days then I’ll be in Crema for few weeks.”

/“Did you say Crema?”/

“Yes,” answered Oliver spritely, walking into his office.

/“I’m in Crema now.”/

“Do you live there?”

/“We come here druing school breaks. My parents have a place here for vacation.”/

“What are the odds! Maybe we could meet up once I settle in?”

Oliver’s soul-half delightfully agreed. For the next couple of days, they communicated about what Oliver could expect, what kind of the essential he’d need to pack. His soulmate even recommended a couple of places he could visit and grab a bite to eat in Sicily. When Oliver asked to know more about Crema, they just answered, “it’s hard to explain. You’ll see what I mean.”

Oliver complimented how good his soulmate was on explaining things. He felt like they just shrugged off his commnet and added they and their parents have been having guest for more than a decade during summer.

/“I don’t remember a summer without having a guest.”/

“Did you just grumble?”

/“kinda.”/

“I’ve been meaning to ask…”

/“shoot.”/

“In my head, you speak American English.”

/“Ahh–, in my head, you speak Italian.”/

Two broke out into light-hearted chortles simultaneously.

“I do speak a little bit of Italian.”

/“Americans––.”/

“Did you just ‘American’ me?”

/“promise me that you are not one of those high-and-fluted people who insist on pronouncing words in French, Italian, or Spanish in between the sentence.”/

“What? like Laissez-faire?”

/“See what I mean? [lä-zär 'fer], you say,”/ they tut-tutted, /“it’s [,lɛseı ’fɛǝr].”/

“Oh, so you speak French now, huh?”

/“a little bit. My mom speaks French, German,  and English. So I’m bound to know some.”/

“Why do I get the feeling that you are downplaying yourself?”

They didn’t answer immediately. For Oliver, it felt like it was a long silence.

“urmm… hey–, did I say something?”

/“no, it’s just I’m always the youngest and… you know how it goes.”/

“I see,” Oliver nodded slowly, “well, I tell you what. I promise that I won’t treat you like a young’n when we meet. Does that sound good?”

/“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.”/

“Well, don’t stay up all night on my account.”

It made them giggle and Oliver was happy about it.

"So, I'll see you in few days?"

/"yes!, in few days."/

*

 

Oliver wasn’t certain whether the overflowing joy he was feeling was from the anticipation of meeting the Perlmans or his soulmate, despite the whole bumpy and puttering taxi ride. His heart was leaping out of his chest. Oh, yes, it was _the_ anticipation, indeed.

The places his soulmate recommended within the city limits of Sicily were amazing. Oliver was finally able to taste the _real_ street Italian pizza. The owner and the chef proudly said that his family has been in this hole-in-the-wall shop for three generations, that he gets his fresh vegetables from the local farmer every morning, and that he makes his pesto and mozzarella every single day. What surprised Oliver the most was that there was no tomato sauce ladled on the flat bread. The owner offered him a small cup of Italian soda when Oliver opened his mouth wide to finally take a bite. Well, he did fumble a bit rotating his wrist, delightfully perplexed a little trying to find which was would-be right angle, since the pizza was handed to him like a loosely rolled wrap. It made the shop owner chuckle out loud. As soon as he managed to bite a mouthful:

“Oh, God––,” he gasped in pure awe.

“Good, eh?” the owner said with a typical Italian hand gesture.

Oliver nodded with his left cheek bulging, mhmm-ing low and long involuntarily, his eyes closing as he chewed savoring the taste. The warm dough was scented with just enough smoke of wood fire oven, the nuttiness hitting the roof of his mouth. The flavor created by the mixture of fresh Olive oil, crisp crunch of delicate leafy greens he couldn’t quite tell the name of, and the vertically quartered grape tomatoes which was fire roasted around its edges just enough to bring out its natural sweetness married so well with its natural tang. Simple ingredients but flavors were bursting like fireworks in his mouth. ‘If I’m not careful,’ Oliver thought to himself, ‘I’d put on more than a couple of pounds while I’m here,’ and took another giant bite.

/“Someone’s happy,”/ his soulmate said.

“This is amazing!” replied Oliver, happily munching.

/“I’m glad you like it.”/

“It’s really nice that we are in the same time zone.”

To that, his soulmate just hummed softly.

Oliver filled his obligation for business with his European publisher like a good old boyscout. The rest, he spent his short stay in Sicily sightseeing and enjoying the local food. His soulmate was a great tour guide. The short espresso shots gave him a boost to combat the stifling humidity. But everything was great; the summer ocean breeze feather-brushed against his skin carrying faint saltiness into his nose, zealous yet exilerating ray of sun layering all over his body. A shade created by broad leaved trees were a great place to sit and read. He was sweating endlessly and yet, strangely, felt like he was being recharged. On the way up to Mount Etna, he passed by a carrettu sicilianu stand in the corner and bought a hand woven straw hat.

/“Did a guy just say Van Gogh? What? You have beard like him?”/

“No, no, no,” Oliver offered with deep throaty laugh, “I just bought a hat.”

/“Nice.”/

The Italian summer sun was intense. He got red sun spots all over, just on his way from the airport to his hotel, the very first day of his arrival. Yeah, Oliver could invest in sun screen. He should. And yet, for some reason, he went with picking up a tanning lotion instead, when he swung by the local drug store.

*

 

Oliver was glad that he was able to share a ride with another person. The guy had a little too much opinion about _America_. But he was able to charm two other occupants in the cab. Plus, splitting fare? Why the hell not! Interacting with people whom he wouldn’t necessarily be seeing again was something Oliver could handle without giving much effort. Besides, being a three consecutive year debate champion also meant that Oliver could bullshit out of his ass in a snap of his finger.

Regardless, the dominant and the recurring thought in his mind, ever since he announced his trip to Italy to his soulmate, was how he would ask them out. _Should I set up a meet up or have them set it? What time? Should I ask them to pick a place?_ Although the two began their regular conversation and the frequency was getting close to his expectation, Oliver didn’t know much about them. They play piano; they like music of any kind; they grew up in Milan; they have a place in Crema and visit there every summer and winter. But why Oliver didn’t bother to ask questions most people consider as identifying inquiries (such as name, age, and physical characteristics like hair color, eye color, etc.), he didn't have a clue.

Then again, if Oliver were to be with this person, all that exterior and outwardly traits wouldn’t matter. And it shouldn’t. On top of that, he didn’t want to be one of those typical soul-half just asking myriad of questions like a fire-drill. Oliver clenched his jaw and softened his sigh, breathing it out through his nose. Maybe _Oliver_ was the romantic kind after all: the _secret_ eternal idealist one.

*

 

Maybe it was from his long harbored presumption, that he'd know and recognize his soulmate immediately like a scene from a movie, Oliver just bruskly passed by this lanky kid who was just trying to help with his luggage. He was about six foot tall wearing a size-too-big polo shirt that was close to maroon than red; his natural brown wavy hair brushing over his bright hazel eyes. Oliver reasoned that he didn’t pack too much. Two luggage in total. At least that was what Oliver persuaded himself, swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. Because he had some self-awareness about him being controlling over his belonging: what went in where and how things were placed & used in certain way.

Oh–, maybe the beach, Oliver thought to himself like it was a brilliant _ah-ha_ idea, “Which way is to the beach?” and tossed the question at the back of the unruly brown curls.

The professor’s son gave a little hoist on Oliver’s luggage before a quick toss with his head to the direction. Then, he simply walked on.

Maybe Oliver was half-excited and half- _dreadfully_ -anxious of finally getting a chance to meet his soulmate. Oddly, his thought drifted too quickly to inventory-ing what he packed. Oliver gave himself a tiny affirmative nod on the fact that he packed several pairs of swim trunks when his soulmate mentioned Crema is adjacent to water.

Then, he remembered.

“Oh, sorry, Oliver,” offered, tapping his chest lightly with his free hand.

Professor’s son gave a quick glance, his chin above his shoulder, toward Oliver's direction and simply said, “Elio.”

Oliver couldn't help but to blink as his steps slowed a little.

 _Did I say something? Or is he just being a typical teenager?_ Oliver wondered to himself.

.

 

| | | FIN | | |

**Author's Note:**

> .  
> Basically, the major plot line of this prequal-ask AU is “Elio knows or has known all along (at least for a year) that Oliver is his soulmate. But Oliver doesn’t have a clue Elio is his soulmate.” Oliver feels guilty of being drawn to Elio, an underage young adult while he has a soulmate. He becomes reluctant and unintentionally postpones meeting his soulmate.  
> .  
> –Laissez-faire pronunciation: I took this from one of the CMBYN press interviews with AH and TC.  
> –carrettu sicilianu: [Sicilian] Sicilian cart or 'carretto siciliano' in Italian: horse- or donkey-pulled carts  
> –This AU was dumped on me a while ago and for some reason, I couldn’t unspool it into words. Logo-constipation, I tell you. And I woke up two o’clock in the morning and _fiiinally_ was able to commit another logorrhea. I even re-read one of the style guide book written by Steven Pinker! Yes, it was that bad. *sigh*  
> .  
>  **Special Thanks To** :(A–Z: this is my AO3 tradition ever since my first post. At the end of each fic I logo-vomit, you’d see this list. *giggle*)  
> BarkingBard,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> ladarax,  
> LonkoLochino,  
> lucifer_sings_in_soprano,  
> lycanus1,  
> moonlight2121,  
> odd87,  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> SupNerds,  
> swimmingpools,  
> VesperCat,  
> and anons who sent kudos, those who subscribed, and bookmarked.  
> .  
> –As always, \Thank you/ **all** for reading, your time, and your interest, for this AU. :) *muwah*   
> .  
>  **as of May 1st, 2019**  
>  if you'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [Request/Q&A page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658678) and post your comment. ;)


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